A couple of days later, Letius stood in a small clearing, the morning light streaming into his eyes. In front of him stood six youths, each with a large wooden shield and spear. Behind them stood two younger youths, each with a bow and arrows.

  “Begin!” Letius shouted, gesturing at Aspemo, who was acting as today’s captain.

  Aspemo stepped forward with his shield raised.

  “Guardians! Shield wall!”

  At his command, the other youths ran up, linking their shields with his. Their spears were pointed forward, forming a deadly wall.

  “Archers!” Aspemo shouted a second later.

  The two younger youths at the rear drew and loosed their arrows, sending them flying over the shield wall. The arrows struck the straw dummies they’d set up in advance and bounced away because they had no arrowheads attached to them.

  “March!”

  “Hurr-ah. Hurr-ah. Hurr-ah.”

  With every step, the youths thrust their spears—step, thrust, step, thrust, step, thrust.

  “Keep the formation tight!” Aspemo shouted. “We walk to the first marker and stop! STOP!”

  The clumsy but determined youths come to a halt, spearheads dipping slightly.

  Watching them, Letius smiled. He had been training the villagers once a month ever since they were attacked by raiders seven years ago. Since then, most of the villagers had come once or twice a year when they could; the younger men and women came more often. Now, everyone in the village could move in a shield wall without tripping over themselves. They would never be soldiers, but against the occasional bandits and raiders, they were formidable.

  “Half turtle!” Aspemo shouted, dropping to one knee.

  The youths beside him knelt, while the others ran behind them and raised their shields above their heads, forming a half-dome to protect their heads from arrows.

  “Slow march!”

  Making sure to keep the formation from crumbling, the half turtle formation slowly marched to the end of the field.

  “Full turtle!”

  This time, the two archers sprinted to the center, as the shield-bearers closed around them, shields raised forward and overhead, creating a full dome with spear points poking out.

  “Thrust! Thrust! Thrust!”

  Standing still, the youths drove their spears outward in unison.

  After a few minutes, Aspemo’s voice echoed from inside the formation.

  “Scatter!”

  As one, every youth dropped their shields and spears and sprinted into the surrounding woods, disappearing from view.

  This was a new tactic Letius had begrudgingly implemented.

  To him, war was an honorable thing, meant to be fought openly with honor over death. But to the villagers, survival mattered more. After training them for over a year with little improvement in traditional formations, Letius had decided to lean into their strength instead of forcing them to fight like true soldiers. As children of hunters, they knew how to vanish into the woods, how to move silently and strike when least expected. This was where he concentrated his efforts.

  A shrill whistle cut through the air, followed by a stone flying faster than any normal man could throw, striking a straw dummy with a violent crack. Straw exploded everywhere.

  From the corner of his eye, Letius spotted Perry stepping out from behind a tree, swinging a sling overhead. With a grunt, the boy released another stone, sending it screaming through the air until it struck a dummy.

  That boy never learns, Letius sighed inwardly.

  “Do not watch your stone hit the target!” he roared.

  Perry immediately dove for cover.

  “The moment you release the stone, move!” Letius continued.” Run to a new position!”

  Most of the youths—especially the women—were quick to stick to this rule, but some boys needed to see if they hit the target. Perry was the worst offender.

  Hearing his words, the rest of the youths were only a blur, moving rapidly from cover to cover. Occasionally, one of the two archers loosed an arrow, striking a dummy.

  “That’s enough for today!” Letius shouted after several minutes. “Group up!”

  When the youths were gathered, he nodded approvingly.

  “You’ve all improved. Go home. Keep your shields and spears in good order. Next time, we’ll focus more on group fighting.” He turned to Aspemo. “Aspemo, stay. I need a word.”

  As the others gathered their belongings and headed off, Aspemo walked up to him.

  “Uncle Letius, you wanted to talk to me?”

  “Summer is just around the corner,” Letius said, tossing him a waterskin. “We’ll need to gather the men to reinforce the Bramble Walls. Can you speak to your grandfather about choosing a date?”

  “Sure,” Aspemo replied, his eyes lighting up.

  The Bramble Walls were an idea Letius and the village council had devised five years ago. They had scouted miles around their village, mapping every trail and easy approach. Then they had erased all but two main paths, replacing the rest with large, dense patches of thorny brambles, thick enough to tear flesh and deter any unwanted force. The result was a natural defense that gave no hint that a village lay nearby.

  The remaining two paths were unavoidable—they could not cut off the whole village. Instead, they built hidden watch stations.

  As they spoke, a man ran up to them, his face red from exhaustion.

  “Letius! Your horse his here!” he panted. “The northern watch barely got word to us that a black horse was galloping down the path before it reached the village. Some of the elders recognized it as the one you were riding when you first came to the village!”

  Midnight?

  Letius felt his stomach drop. There were only a few reasons Midnight would be here, and they were all bad.

  “Where is the horse now?”

  “By your house.”

  Turning to Aspemo, Letius spoke. “I’m sorry, but can you put the straw dummies away? I must get home.”

  “Sure, Uncle Letius. I hope everything is fine.”

  Letius sprinted the whole way there, his mind blank. When he reached his home, he saw Midnight.

  “Midnight!”

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  The horse looked even larger than he remembered, its massive dark body easily dwarfing any warhorse Letius had ever seen.

  At the sight of him, Midnight whinnied softly and nudged his saddlebag with his head.

  “Do you have something for me?” Letius murmured, stroking the horse’s neck. “Thank you.”

  He reached into the saddlebag and pulled out a hastily written letter.

  Drawing a steadying breath, he read the letter.

  “Father… I never expected that this is how you would leave this world,” he whispered, folding the letter and pressing his forehead against Midnight's. He inhaled deeply, held it for a moment, then slowly let it go. “Thank you, Midnight. Thank you for bringing this message to me.”

  “Father!” Alias called as she ran up, slowing when she saw the massive horse. Her body language told Letius she was weary of the large animal. “Whose horse is that? Did you get a letter? Who is it from?”

  “This is Midnight,” Letius gently said, crouching beside her. “Midnight, this is my daughter. I hope you two can get along.” He hesitated, then added, “He brought us a letter from your aunt. Your grandfather has passed away.”

  “Oh,” Alias said, still eying Midnight. “That's sad.”

  Seeing his daughter’s indifference to her grandfather’s death, Letius felt a pang of regret run through his heart. It was his fault that his daughter never had the chance to meet her grandfather, never had the chance to grow attached to the man. To her, the man’s death was no different from that of a stranger.

  Lifting Alias carefully, Letius set her atop Midnight’s broad back. The horse curiously turned to look at the small child.

  “Midnight is my oldest friend,” Letius said softly. “I hope you can also be his friend too.”

  Trusting her father, Alias quickly relaxed as she sat on Midnight’s back, her small hands gently petting the large horse’s neck. The wariness in her eyes faded into delight.

  “Good boy. Good boy,” she whispered over and over into the horse’s ears. Her hands never stopped petting him.

  Watching them, Letius felt torn. When he had first read the letter, he had planned to leave Alias behind and return to Leora alone—not wanting to bring her into a war. Now, he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her behind. The anxiety that came from not knowing if she was safe would affect his ability to make decisions.

  Knowing how irresponsible and selfish his decision was, Letius still smiled.

  “I’m sorry, Alias,” he said, taking Midnight’s reins, “but we have to leave this place and head to our ancestral home.”

  Alias blinked down at him in surprise, then frowned, a thoughtful look crossing her face.

  “Do we need to say goodbye to the elders and Aspemo?”

  “Yes,” Letius said. “We do.”

  “Oh.”

  “There you are,” a familiar voice cut in. “I heard a black horse came to your house.”

  Letius turned to see the Village Chief approach; the news of Midnight was already spreading around the village.

  “Judging from your face, I can tell something is wrong,” the old man said, his face looked five years older than just this morning.

  “My father has passed away,” Letius replied. “I thought that I would never return home, but now I must.”

  The Chief, bowing his head, murmured a brief prayer to Gera before looking up again.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Returning home is the right path. When will you leave? Will you return to the village?”

  “I don’t think we can,” Letius said solemnly, finally giving life to the words he didn’t want to admit. “If what my sister wrote is true, the responsibilities of my family now fall to me. I’ll be taking Alias. We’ll leave as soon as we finish packing.”

  The Village Chief seemed to age even more. “I understand,” he nodded. “We’ll miss you. I hope you can stay for lunch. Everyone will want to say their goodbyes. They respect and care for you here.”

  Letius shook his head and helped his daughter get off Midnight.

  “We’ll leave before lunch. We need to reach the next village before nightfall.”

  Tottering as fast as he could, the Village Chief made his way to the training field, ignoring his aching body. “Damn legs,” he grunted, wincing as his joints protested.

  “Aspemo! Boy, where are you?”

  “Grandfather, I’m here,” the boy answered, running over from the field. “Why are you yelling?”

  “Boy, you must pack now! Letius and his daughter are leaving this village. I want you to follow them. Letius must be your new Lord!”

  “New Lord? Why must I follow him?” the young boy asked, his face scrunched in a frown.

  “Boy, you might not remember this, but seven years ago—when Letius had barely settled into this village—we were attacked by raiders. Letius and I were the only ones who could fight. I was younger then, but still too old to hold a spear properly. I thought it was over, but I was wrong. I saw Letius kill two men with his bare hands!

  “But what startled me was when he picked up a raider’s sword. The way he moved with that blade… It was as if he were born with it. He cut through them like a sickle cutting through wheat, effortlessly.”

  Grabbing his grandson by the shoulders, the Village Chief stared into his eyes before continuing.

  “When I was younger, I used to work as a soldier for House Apra. While I was there, I saw a great tournament where warriors from across the land came to compete. I can say without a doubt that none of them could compare to Letius. He is the strongest warrior I have ever seen.”

  Taking hold of his grandson's hand, the Village Chief lifted the boy's sleeve, exposing his Kestrel crest. Then he lifted his own sleeve, showing the matching crest.

  “This is proof that the blood of warriors runs through our veins. I squandered my chance. When I was young, I gambled and drank away every bit of money and goodwill anyone gave me. In the end, I had to flee with your father, debt collectors chasing us the whole way.”

  His chest tightened as he recalled his shameful history. Clutching on to his grandson’s arm, he went on.

  “You must follow Letius. I know you can become a better man than I ever was. Aspemo, I’m serious. You cannot end up like me. I don’t want you to grow old, filled with regret. Please, show the world that our family is more than just a bunch of drunks.”

  Hearing his grandfather’s words, Aspemo opened his mouth in shock, closing and opening it again before nodding. A confused determination entered his eyes.

  “Grandfather, I promise,” he said. “I will serve Uncle Letius. I’ll make something of my life. I’ll make you proud.”

  Smiling, the Village Chief pulled him into a great hug before stepping back.

  “Go pack. Now! I’ll ready our horse. You’re leaving today!”

  “Yes, Grandfather!”

  After packing what little clothing and food he needed for the journey, Letius let out a quiet sigh. Kneeling, he pried open a loose floorboard, revealing the black sword his wife had once been obsessed with.

  He stared at the spartan two-handed weapon. Even now, he saw no beauty in it. It was jet black, long, with its handle wrapped in black leather. It had been forged with only one purpose: to kill.

  As he lifted the deadly slab of metal, he remembered his wife’s descent into obsession. She had been convinced it held a secret—one that would prove her family were once kings and queens. If she could only unlock its power, she believed she would finally be worthy of him, and his father would finally accept her.

  For years, Letius had argued with her, insisting she didn’t need royal blood. But she had ignored him, eventually neglecting their daughter and her own health. When Letius tried to throw the blade away, the physical and mental toll she inflicted upon herself forced him to retrieve it. By the time she passed, she was a mere husk of her former self, the once beautiful woman reduced to skin and bone. After her death, Letius had tried throwing the sword away, but he couldn't. It was the only thing of hers he had left.

  Drawing the blade from its scabbard, Letius ran his hand along its length, remembering the dark months following his wife’s death. He had turned to alcohol, drinking until he could no longer feel the pain in his heart. If it were not for his daughter, he would have lost himself entirely.

  One night, he had awoken in a sweat, his daughter’s cries cutting through the haze of liquor. Stumbling unsteadily through the house, he had found her in the storage room. The black sword he had tossed there lay beside her, a smear of blood from the cut on her foot staining the blade. With a pang of horror, he realized he had not fed her for days. In her hunger, she had wandered into the room and had cut herself.

  Shouting in panic and shame, he had rushed to her side, grabbing a cloth and wrapping her foot. Tears rolled down his face for the first time since his wife’s passing, the terror he had just felt finally spilling over. Sobbing, he pulled his daughter into his arms.

  A sudden movement made him look up through his tears. He froze.

  A shadow of a warrior had burst forth from the sword.

  In the specter’s hand was a phantom version of the black blade, one that looked as if it were forged from black ice, crystal-clear yet darker than anything Letius had ever seen. It seemed as if light itself warped and twisted around it.

  Looking at Letius and Alias, the shadow warrior raised his weapon and began to move, performing sword forms Letius had never seen before—forms so captivating they made him hold his breath in awe.

  The sword flowed like water, then struck like lightning. It blinded like snow, then burned like fire. It mixed styles in ways that seemed to contradict each other, yet when performed, blended seamlessly.

  Lost its brilliance, Letius and Alias watched until the last strike was done.

  With a bow, the shadow warrior vanished. Letius had never been able to forget the movements; it was as if they were burned into his mind.

  Snapping out of the memory, Letius slid the sword back into its scabbard and strapped it to his side. Taking one last look around, he stepped outside.

  “Father! You didn't tell me that Aspemo was coming with us!” Alias yelled happily. She sat perched on Midnight's back, pointing a finger at the young boy sitting on the Village Chief’s only horse.

  “He is?” Letius asked, frowning.

  “Letius, you must take my grandson with you,” the Village Chief pleaded, limping toward him. “He cannot rot away in this small village. I want him to experience the world. Please—he will be your servant.”

  “I don't need a servant,” Letius said, his eyes flickering to the Crest on Aspemo’s hand. He had never asked the Chief about his Crest, but there were only a few reasons someone with one would be hiding in a remote village like this.

  “Please, Letius. Let him follow you. I am becoming too old. If he stays, I will rob him of his youth as he cares for me. Let me give him this one last gift. You know as much as I do that he doesn’t belong here!”

  Meeting the Village Chief’s eyes, Letius saw desperation and shame. The same eye his wife had when looking at the black sword.

  Swallowing, he nodded. “I do not need a servant, but he can be my squire. I will look after him.”

  “Thank you!”

  Swinging himself onto Midnight's back behind his daughter, Letius signaled Aspemo to follow.

  “Let's go, we have a long way to go!”